


don't forget to breathe

by ikebukuro



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi, Plot What Plot, Short, Threesome - F/M/M, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikebukuro/pseuds/ikebukuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(your hand touches my cheek as you whisper softly)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't forget to breathe

The problem isn’t that he doesn’t know how it’s done—he _knows_ how it’s done because, well, the USO girls were friendly dames and he was dizzy and alone and it seemed like a swell idea at the time—but _this_ , this is different, so much more different than anything he’d done, or thought of doing or, fantasized about. This wasn’t the kind of thing he’d thought about, ever, but that doesn’t mean he’s not interested—his body’s _definitely_ interested. His gut tightens low and heavy, his legs feel like they’re filled with air when _other_ parts feel like they’re weighed down with lead, throbbing, _aching,_ and there’s a rushing in his ears that sounds like wind but that might just be his heart pumping everything down south.

His head’s spinning again.

There are two sets of hands on his body—one small set, another larger, but both with callouses from rough work; _hers_ are softer, easier to miss and _his_ are larger, lend a texture to his touches. Steve fights to draw breaths when her hands splay over his chest like bird wings, when she rakes nails like knife points gently downward, over the rises and valleys of his abdomen, to hook fingertips in the waistband of his pants and _tug_. There’s a dagger-edge bright glitter in her eyes that Steve doesn’t miss for a second, but her smile is soft at the center, beautiful—and _red_ , kiss-bruised and slick from whatever she’d been doing before he came in, before he interrupted.

Larger palms fit themselves to the jut of his hips, drag him back against a body like granite—against the proof that he’s not the only one who wants, who _aches_. It makes Steve’s mouth go dry, makes his tongue stick behind his teeth when he tries to speak, to say a name— _his_ name—the name that’s always been Steve’s to say.

Natasha does it for him though, murmurs to the aggressive heat at Steve’s back; it’s a flow of soft Russian, then of English, and somewhere in there he hears a name—and he shudders, because it’s the right one even while it’s the wrong one. He finds himself catching her face between his hands, lifting her chin and covering her mouth with his, just to keep her from talking. Talking makes it real—makes everything real—and he’s not sure if he’s going to be able to deal with that just yet.

He bunches a fist in her hair and it’s like copper silk crushed in his palm. He pulls, half by instinct, half by accident—and he nearly apologizes, except that she makes this sound into his mouth and something roars in his head, shoots straight to his cock and he yanks her against him before he can overthink it, before he can let her go.

She doesn’t try to pull away though, not even a struggle, and Steve’s grip twists in her hair, just so he can hear her again. No words, just sounds. She arches against him, tips her head up further; her tongue flicks against his, glides, tastes him like he’s exotic—and he drinks her in. Her mouth is intoxication; she’s bourbon or pilfered gin, sweet and hot and forbidden, stolen on a winter night, heavy on his tongue and plenty strong enough to make him _forget_.

Except that thing he’s trying to forget—that _someone_ he’s trying so hard not to remember—is fitted to his back, has an arousal jammed against Steve’s ass, unmistakable and undeniable and Steve doesn’t know what he’s doing so much as he’s just _doing_ it when he rocks his hips back against Bucky’s cock and pulls Natasha tighter against his chest to smother his groan against her lips.

The hands at his hips tighten ruthlessly, hard enough to hurt, and Steve finally breaks the kiss to let his head drop back; he gulps air like a drowning man and watches the ceiling spin above him, whirling, dizzying. He says something then, something quiet and hushed, but it’s a name—definitely a name—and then there’s a hand in his hair, wrenching his head back further and a mouth more sadistic than sensual takes his in a kiss that wipes all thought away, blanks him from all coherence, all reason. The world goes dark around the edges and he closes his eyes in surrender—gives in and drowns, because that’s what they’re doing, that’s what they want. And he thinks, maybe, that’s what he wants to. _Now._

His awareness narrows to a pinpoint, to Bucky’s mouth against his, to their breaths mingling, to the hand still on his hip and the commanding grip in his hair and the pain in his scalp that burns its way down to his gut and settles in his belly low and warm. Everything is Bucky, _everything_ —except the two smaller hands that move over his chest again, splay over his heart, then skim upward to grasp at his shoulders; her nails press crescents into his skin and he hisses. Her lips brush kisses over the column of his throat, over the fluttering pulse beneath the skin, and higher, over the line of his jaw and the shell of his ear. She inhales him, gentle and soft, _sexy_ —and Steve’s heart skips a beat when her palm fits itself to the front of his slacks, to the evidence of his want—cups him, holds him and _squeezes_ slowly.

The sound he makes is desperate and she answers it with a kiss to the hollow beneath his ear and a smile he doesn’t see but feels all the way to his bones.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely smuttyesque drabble written on the spur of the moment for the resident Stevemun in my life, [Sheona](http://punishmentcomesafter.tumblr.com). Dedicated to her, with an additional if somewhat out-of-the-blue shoutout to [Caw](http://sovieturbanlegend.tumblr.com), who does a fairly badass Bucky if I do say so myself. Title and summary snippet are borrowed from Bitter:Sweet's song, ["Don't Forget To Breathe".](http://makarovs.tumblr.com/post/67124061255/)


End file.
